LOUIS’ P.O.V.


I dread going to work on Monday morning. In fact, I don’t exactly get to the office until well after eleven, only to find that my brother got home a few days early from his trip.

Normally, seeing Henri would be a good thing. He usually makes the work day a bit easier since we get on well and I’m not just stuck there alone.

However, with Harry on my mind twenty-four seven, and a severe lack of sleep, I don’t know how much of his playful pestering I can handle.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Henri looks up from some papers at the front desk as I walk in, smirk plastered on his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” I yawn, walking sluggishly toward my office, “Why are you back so soon?”

I open my door and place my briefcase on top of my desk. Henri follows behind me, leaning casually against the doorframe, glasses balancing at the tip of his nose, “Jenn and i decided that the kids didn’t need to miss any more school so I volunteered to bring them home early and let her stay the last couple days alone.”

I snort and fall back into my lavish chair, “Bath was that boring, eh?”

He shrugs and glances at his iPhone, probably skimming over an email, “Let’s just say that Jennifer picked the resort with a narrow focus on a spa, and very little on her children and husband.”

“You know she considers you one of her kids, right? No waterslide for you, Hen?” I check my phone when he isn’t looking, hoping for some reason, that Harry might have texted me. He hasn’t.

“Ha,” he huffs, “I’m glad she get’s to relax. The kids are fine with me. I just have to get them to school and the nanny picks them up. I’m not that incapable.”

I glare knowingly, “What did they eat for breakfast?” I ask.

He looks up from his phone in shock, “They don’t feed them that at school?”

I gasp, thinking of my niece and nephew sitting at school hungry at the moment, because my idiot brother didn’t feed them.

“Oh my god, your face!” Henri roars, slapping his knee dramatically, “You really fell for that, didn’t you?”

I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, and chuckle sarcastically, tossing the nearest thing, which is a pen, at my brother’s head, “Very funny, y’tosser.”

He continues to laugh and I try to ignore how irritated he’s making me. I know I’m just irritable because I’m anxious and tired, but I swear he’s doing it on purpose; annoying me beyond all reason.

“Anyway,” he continues after much more hysterical laughter, “How’s Emma and Cece?”

I speak nonchalantly, turning on my computer as I respond, “Emma’s great; Cece’s gone.”
He stares blankly at me, silence finally overcoming him.

“Gone?” He finally gets out.

I nod my head innocently, tapping my foot impatiently, “Yep. Broke up with her and she’s gone... For good.”

Henri is still silent, obviously a bit shocked. I know my brother; he’s trying to think of the best thing to say so that he doesn’t rub me the wrong way. I’ll admit that I’ve been a bit moody for most of my life, so I can’t blame him.

“It’s fine, Henri. I’m glad about it, really. No hard feelings whatsoever,” I assure him, hoping he’ll stop gaping at me like he is.

“Well,” he adds, “If you’re happy without her, then we all are.”

I chuckle at his gung-ho attitude, contemplating telling him about Harry (without actually telling him about Harry).

He continues to speak, though, before I can make a decision, “Well, Jenn and I are having the family over when Mum and Dad get back from the States next week. You and Em will be there, of course... You can bring whatever new lass you’re with by then,” He laughs and takes a sip from his coffee, spilling a spot onto his crisp white dress shirt.

It’s my turn to laugh, and he glares at me in aggravation. I shrug carelessly as he turns and hurries to the wash room.
There will be a better time to tell him; once I know for sure if I even still have Harry.


EMMA’S P.O.V.


Waking up is easy for me every damn morning; except today. My eyes flutter open and I immediately come face to face with Zayn. He’s still fast asleep, which is no surprise to me. His eyelashes are long, resting at the top of his cheekbones softly. His expression is so relaxed, carefree, and innocent.

“Psst,” I whisper, brushing aside what was his quiff last night and is now a mess of hair on his forehead, “Wake up, Zayn.”

He doesn’t flinch, not in the slightest. I gently tap his shoulder, hoping not to piss him off in the process. Still, no movement.

“Zayn,” I nudge him harder while gripping his bicep, “C’mon we gotta get ready.”
He lays there, pliant and fast asleep. His shoulder sways as I shake him, but he only groans softly and continues his ignorant slumber.

I roll my eyes and toss the blankets off of me, rolling over until I’m at the edge of the bed, the edge farthest from Zayn. I drape my legs over the mattress and stretch before standing up, grabbing my phone, and sluggishly walking to the bathroom.

I skim through a couple texts, the daily “Good morning, beautiful” from Mum, and one from Dad saying that he was going to bring me lunch at school today, which is strange if I’m being honest.
I tie my hair up and take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and change into an outfit I had packed: black skinnies and a white tank top and purple sweater. When I return to Zayn’s bedroom, he’s still fast asleep and we need to leave in less than thirty minutes to make it to school on time. I drop my bag on the ground and climb onto the bed again, this time straddling his lap and resting my hands on his chest. I lean down and press my lips to the corner of his mouth, smirking when his eyes flicker open and his hands trail up my sides.

“Now, that’s how you wake a man up,” his voice is weak and scratchy, but it’s so fucking sexy.

“You’re such a goddamned faker,” I exclaim, pretending to dislike his affection, “Get up, though. We need to leave soon.”

He turns over and glances at the clock, “It’s only seven!”

I roll my eyes and try to leave the bed, but he grasps my hips and keeps me there, “Yeah, but I like to be early and we might catch traffic.”

He chuckles and lets go of me. I stumble off of him and re-situate my clothes, trying not to stare at how close to naked he is, his briefs clinging to his bulge.

“You’re just like your mother, you know,” he croaks, yawning and forcing himself up, “Always worrying for no fucking reason- hey, where are those trousers I had on the chair over there?”

I shrug because I haven’t touched anything of his and his room isn’t exactly the most organized. I decide to get my things together and make breakfast before I start having anxiety over the possibility of being late, “Eggs okay?”

“You don’t have to make anything; we can grab food on the way-“ he stops mid-sentence as he retrieves the pants he was looking for.

“Nah, I’ll make something,” I grin and watch him as he staggers around, sleepily getting dressed. He smiles back before I disappear down the hall, in an attempt to get us both out of the house on time. I can’t help it, but I have major anxiety about punctuality and it plagues me daily. Zayn doesn’t realize that and it isn’t something I’d particularly like to tell him about.
I search his kitchen for about five minutes, gathering enough to make egg on toast, which is better than nothing.

I probably wouldn’t know how to cook, if it weren’t for my dad. Don’t get me wrong, he didn’t teach me how to cook. God, no. He’s just so helpless when it comes to feeding himself that I’ve learned a lot over the years. If it weren’t for me and Cece (past-tense now), Dad would have starved long ago. Hopefully whoever he’s with now knows how to cook, even if their relationship isn’t serious.
I kind of doubt it is. I mean, he rebounded pretty damn fast from Cece and they had been together a while. So, I doubt that this thing is anything more than a fling. I fully intend on finding out for sure very soon, though.

“Wow, you were serious, huh?” Zayn fumbles with his navy blue tie, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, as he watches me cook. I chuckle at the sight and shake my head, “Of course not. S’nothing fancy, just egg on toast.”

He finishes his tie and tightens it, removing the toothbrush momentarily and quickly kissing my cheek with his lips closed tight. I lean into his peck before he pulls away, “It’s perfect, Em. I’ll be ready to go in five.”


__


Well, it turns out that five minutes for Zayn is more like twenty-five in real time and by the time we get into the car, we only have ten minutes before I’m late for class.

Worst of all, he lives about fifteen minutes from school.

“Emma, it’s fine. You’re not going to get in trouble for one tardy, I promise,” I cross my arms and stare out the window as he tries to reassure me.

“It’s not about getting in trouble; It’s-“ I stop myself before I say something that’ll make me look dumb, and nervously tap my foot instead.

“S’alright; you can tell me,” he reaches over and gently massages my shoulder.

I try not to appear pissed off, because I’m not. If anything I’m pissed off that I even have to deal with these stupid thoughts and compulsions; but, it’s nothing I can control.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Zayn. I’m sorry if I’m being a bitch; I’m not mad at you or anything,” I finally glance over and he legitimately seems concerned.

“C’mon, Em. Just tell me what’s bothering you,” Zayn pleads and I huff, checking my phone for the time again, only to be more disappointed.

“I just get really stressed out about being late, okay? I don’t know why, but I do and I can’t control it,” I drop my hands in my lap, feeling more awkward than ever having tried to explain what the fuck goes on in my head.

“That’s alright, babe. I’m sorry I’m making you late, though,” he pouts dramatically, bringing a slight grin to my face.

“There ya go,” he smiles, “It’ll be alright. I’ll be more aware next time.”

Next time. There it is again, some sort of casual promise for future plans that makes me want to scream in confusion.

“Thanks,” is all I say, hiding my excitement and wonder.

We sit in silence, besides the faint humming coming from the radio. Zayn sips the coffee I made him and I watch the traffic around us as we eventually make our way to school. While we’re stopped at the final stop light, Zayn reaches over and softly grabs my knee.

“You know,” he speaks softly and matter-of-factly, “About the being late thing...It sounds to me like you might have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.”

The way he tries to diagnose me with mental illness so casually actually boggles my mind, “Excuse me?”

He retracts his hand and turns into the parking lot, immediately getting defensive, “No, it’s not meant to be a negative comment. I’m just saying that it might be the reason you think that way. Do you feel like something negative would happen if you were late? Even if it isn’t something you can pinpoint-“

That’s exactly what it feels like, but I’m so beside myself with irritation, from being late and from Zayn’s careless words, that I feel hot tears surface, “I don’t have fucking OCD, okay? Can you please just park so I can get to class?”

He’s speechless. Literally, his mouth is just hanging open in shock and he has no idea what to say, so he simply nods. He pulls into a parking spot and I immediately try to open the door, only it’s still locked. I sniffle and glance over, waiting for him to unlock the doors.

Instead he reaches over and takes my hand in his calmly, “Please don’t be upset. I’m sorry I said anything. I shouldn’t have; I just didn’t think-“

“No, you didn’t think. Now, let me out of this fucking car,” I snap incredulously, yanking my hand away; but, he grabs my arm next, obviously trying to calm me down, and failing miserably.

“Emma, just listen for a second!” He pleads with me, still shocked that any of this is happening, while I’m silently beginning to have a panic attack.

“Zayn! Let me go before I really freak out. Please!” With my last cry, he lets go and holds his hands up as if to prove that he isn’t going to try anything else. He reaches down and presses the button to unlock the doors. I swing the door open in a hurry and grab my school bag before he can do or say anything else at all.

I begin to jog toward the building my first class is in, trying to wipe away the dampness under my eyes. I’m rushing so much that I physically run into someone, knocking my bag out of my hand.

“Oh my god, I’m such a klutz. So sorry-“ I look up and come face to face with Harry’s frend Abby. She smiles kindly and leans over to pick up my bag for me.

“It’s alright, Emma. Are you okay? Are you- Are you crying?” I start to shake my head, but more unstoppable tears produce and the girl I hardly know just pulls me into a hug, “Hey, it’s okay. Let it out.”

And I do, because I can’t stop. Everything has been so overwhelming in the past couple days and I haven’t had time to properly register everything. Then, on top of it all, Zayn feels the need to slap some crazy disease on me like some sort of mental patient.

Speaking of Zayn, “Emma!”

He’s running down the hall, his bag over his shoulder and my sweater in his other hand. When he approaches me and Abby, he slows down and begins to catch his breath.

“This is yours, yeah?” He holds out my cardigan and I reluctantly take it, scowling all the while.

“Look,” he begins, but his eyes shift between me and Abby before he realizes where exactly we are. He lowers his voice and clears his throat, “Don’t be sad, okay?”

That’s all he says before he’s bolting down the hall, late himself for class.

I sigh and turn to Abby, who seems to be a little confused in Zayn’s interest in my well-being.

“He’s my dad’s best friend,” I answer her silent questions.

She nods her head slowly, switching the subject, “Alright, then. C’mon, let’s get to class, yeah?”

I sigh and chuckle dryly, following my new friend through the halls, “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Notes

Hi lovelies <3 here's an update and it's 3 am so i'm gonna sleep now xx sorry this one is kinda boring. just some character development.


TRY AND TELL ME THAT THEY WOULDN'T BE THE MOST PERFECT BROTHERS. JUST TRY.